


Following Seas

by brynnmck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-31
Updated: 2006-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried / Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following Seas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdwolfpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/gifts).



> Happy birthday, [](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sdwolfpup.livejournal.com/)**sdwolfpup**!

The _Galactica_ loses nearly a quarter of its active crew to the first wave of settlers on New Caprica. Starbuck hisses and swears and curses them all, stomps around the corridors muttering vague threats, but Bill doesn't take it personally. His people are exhausted, terrified, and he knows the awful elation of hope; hell, he's used it himself. He's learned the folly of trying to deny his people their right to go where they want to go, believe what they want to believe. President Baltar, New Caprica, the whole thing scares the shit out of him, but he'll have to settle for keeping the _Galactica_ primed, protecting them all as best he can.

Of course, it's one thing to accept their leaving on a philosophical level, and another to actually say goodbye. They all make their way to his quarters, individually or in groups, and he tries not to think about how much it feels like they're paying their respects at his grave. Tyrol's one of the first, his eyes earnest and haunted. It's a blow Bill wasn't expecting, but he shakes the Chief's hand anyway, thanks him for keeping them all in the sky and prays to the gods that he'll find some peace.

It goes on like that for days, the ensign who somehow got hold of a steak dinner when Bill was recovering from his gunshot wound, the specialist who discovered a new cocktail to extend the Viper fuel, the petty officer with the baby Bill had christened a few months ago. His hand aches from signing resignation requests. When Saul finally wanders by during the late shift with a bottle of ambrosia, for a minute all Bill can think is _no. No. Not you, too_.

"You gettin' short, too, Saul?" he asks, forcing a smile.

Saul blinks at him, like he just suggested they take a jaunt out the airlock. "Hell, no. What the frak am I gonna do on that godforsaken rock? Start a rose garden?"

That's enough to startle a genuine chuckle out of him, but guilt immediately wars with relief. "I know Ellen's been hinting at it," he admits. Though _hinting_ is putting it mildly where Ellen Tigh is concerned; the woman's about as subtle as a basestar.

He can see his friend's spine straighten slowly. "Are you giving me an order… sir?"

It stings, like it was meant to, like the hurt he can see in Saul's clenched jaw. "Of course not," Bill says quietly, gruffly.

"Then let me worry about my wife, and you worry about pouring us some drinks."

And that seems to be the end of that conversation.

 

*****

 

"Heard Laura Roslin headed planetside today," Saul comments casually over the duty rosters. Used to be they'd just sign them, but a few months since the election and the crew has dwindled to the point where the Admiral and his XO are doing paperwork just to feel like they're doing something. Bill knows they're both counting the names in their heads.

"She did," Bill agrees. "Going to open a school."

Saul shakes his head. "It's a damn waste. You've got to wonder if the will of the people is such a great idea when the people are complete frakkin' idiots."

It's an old argument between them, but there isn't much heat to it now—for the moment, at least, they're standing in the back row, watching the drama unfold. So Bill just snorts in response, distracted by how he's going to keep CIC staffed with their current complement.

"What the _hell_?" Saul exclaims suddenly, viciously.

Bill looks up. "What?"

"There was no one on watch on the deck last night—Goyer claimed food poisoning. Food poisoning, my ass. Rack burn is more like it."

Saul slides his chair back, and Bill watches him building up a full head of steam, feels his own mouth quirking. He wouldn't have thought this strange half-duty would agree with his friend, but Saul seems to be taking it in stride so far, empty bottles to a minimum and fearsome tirades for anyone who gets sloppy.

In fact, he seems to be dealing with it better than Bill is.

"You ever think about it, Saul?" he asks. "Going planetside?"

"The only think I'm thinking about right now is my boot in Goyer's ass," Saul growls, already halfway out the door, and Bill lets himself smile.

 

*****

Dee's transfer request is hardly a surprise.

"Seems to me that 'I don't want to have to take a transport to see my boyfriend' didn't used to be a valid reason for transfer," Saul grumbles, but he's smirking a little, too.

"Oh, shut up," Bill grumbles back, chuckling; he signs the request without hesitation.

After a few seconds, Saul asks, "You seen Lee lately?"

"Once a week or so." Bill frowns. He knows there's no love lost between his son and his XO, and if Saul is noticing that something is off about Lee, then the situation might be worse than he'd thought. It's half the reason he's signing the transfer request, since they do still try to at least pay lip service to regs most of the time. This is pretty damn blatant. But then again, the crews of both ships and half the settlers on the planet have known about Lee and Dee for months now, so he figures there's nothing to be lost in giving them as much of a chance as they can have for happiness.

He'd meant for Lee's promotion to be an honor and acknowledgement; these days, he's worried it's a millstone.

"Maybe they should head down to the planet," Saul offers, breaking into his train of thought. "It's like a ghost town on that ship."

Bill's mouth curls up in a half-smile. "As opposed to here?"

" _Pegasus_ is too frakking big," Saul grimaces, "and too damned shiny. This old gal… it makes sense, all of us relics up here together." He grins, wide and conspiratorial, and if there's something a little shaky around the edges of it, it could just be a trick of the light.

 

*****

When Starbuck asks Saul to give her away at her wedding, Bill gets the sense that all three of them are wondering how the hell this happened.

"It's just that you're performing the ceremony, Admiral," Kara explains hurriedly, "and Helo's best man, so…" She gives a helpless shrug. "Not a lot of us left."

"Saul?" Bill turns to his friend, the part of him that's not stunned senseless actually starting to enjoy this a bit.

"I. Ah. Well." And that seems to be the best Saul can do for the moment.

"Come on, Colonel," Starbuck says, turning a cajoling grin on him. "After this, I'll be out of your hair forever. Or, you know, your lack of—"

"Finish that statement, Captain," Saul threatens, "and you'll be cleaning the head on your wedding day."

Starbuck clears her throat. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Saul eventually agrees, which is baffling enough, and Kara actually looks pleased, which seems insane even for her.

The ceremony is small, the few remaining members of _Galactica_ 's crew mingling with a handful of Anders' people from Caprica, Tyrol and Cally and a few other old friends forming a ragtag honor guard in the rear. It isn't what Bill would have wanted for the woman he loves like a daughter, but as the ceremony ends and the party begins, he tries to tamp down his worry and give Kara a genuine smile. He's worried about all of them, actually, Kara with her wild, panic-edged joy; Anders thrilled and shell-shocked, like he's got a gryphon by the tail and doesn't know quite what to do with it; Lee conspicuously absent and sounding distinctly un-sober when Bill calls him in a last-ditch attempt to get him to change his mind; Helo with shadows in his eyes even when he whoops and applauds the bride and groom's ostentatious kisses. Bill wants to protect them, wants to know what to do, wants to hold on.

"Here." Saul turns up at his shoulder with a flask of something strong. Not surprisingly, one of the first exports of New Caprica was decent liquor, and at the moment, Bill is damn glad of it.

"So we still fit in our dress grays," he observes as the alcohol is still burning in his throat. "That's a pleasant surprise."

Saul barks out a laugh. "I'll tell you, I wasn't happy to see this damned sash again. After this, I'm burning the frakking thing."

"As the ranking officer of this fleet, I can't permit you to do that," Bill says, grinning, and takes another slug from the flask. "Cloth is a precious resource. And also, the sashes hide our guts."

They laugh together this time, then just watch the too-small crowd in silence for a few moments.

"We don't have enough pilots left to run CAP," Saul sighs finally. Bill watches his eyes drift to Ellen, waving at him over Helo's shoulder as she sways closer to the younger man. Helo looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"You should go, Saul," Bill tells him. "Make Ellen happy. We're on a skeleton crew, here, anyway."

"Are you kidding? With Starbuck gone, the Triad table is wide open," Saul scoffs.

But just before he tips his head back to drink, Bill can read the lie in his eyes.

 

*****

 

Bill's washing his hands in the sink in his quarters, grease up to his elbows from tinkering around with his old Mark II all day. It's getting harder and harder to fool himself. He'd been ready for retirement once, before the end of the world; he's starting to think that now it's ready for him.

"Sir?" He turns to see Saul in his doorway, bearing a bottle of ambrosia.

Bill raises an eyebrow. "What's the occasion?"

"Anniversary of New Caprica," his friend replies, thunking the bottle on the table. "The coldest bitch of a port in a storm a man could hope to find."

Bill laughs ruefully. "So say we all. I'll drink to that."

They each pull up a chair, and one drink turns into two, two into three; before long, they're trading stories from their freight-running days that would seriously damage the dignity of the Admiral and his XO if anyone was left on _Galactica_ to hear them.

"Gods, that man hated me," Bill manages between guffaws at one point, their old captain's face clear in his mind even after fifteen years and more than a few fingers of ambrosia. "I think it was the mustache."

"Everyone hated your mustache," Saul belches.

"Not as much as they hated that skimpy rat's nest on top of your head."

Time slides by unnoticed, each of them trying to top the other with another memory, another joke. By the time they run out of stories, the bottle is nearly empty and Bill's gut aches from laughing.

"We have seen some shit, haven't we?" Saul muses, or at least as much as he's capable of musing from his slightly diagonal sprawl on the chair.

"That we have, my friend." He allows himself a brief hesitation, a deep breath before the plunge. But then, deliberately, "It's been an honor serving with you, Saul."

He watches Saul's face, watches the words penetrate, and his friend looks away for a second, caught between a flinch and a smile. "Thank you for saying so, sir," he says at last, meeting Bill's gaze directly, his shoulders straightening, "but the honor's been mine."

Bill smiles, swirls the last of the ambrosia in his glass. He's been asking Saul the same question on and off for almost a year now. Tonight, he doesn't ask, because he already knows the answer.


End file.
